


Everything's Blurry But You

by smc_27



Category: The Society (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:06:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23251408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smc_27/pseuds/smc_27
Summary: She knew he was coming to the wedding, and she knew he was bringing someone. She helped Grizz and Sam plan this whole thing. She was very well aware of the entire guest list and seating arrangement and placement of every goddamn centrepiece, because she offered and they accepted her help. Not that she’s shitty enough to think they couldn’t have done it on their own. No, see, what happened was she offered just to be nice and they were thrilled, so she couldn’t really take it back, could she?Seeing Harry is...She just thinks she’ll never be able to look at him and not think of how good things were for a while, there.
Relationships: Harry Bingham/Allie Pressman
Comments: 6
Kudos: 130





	Everything's Blurry But You

She has snuck away for a moment with just this crystal glass full of whiskey in her hand outside the venue. She’s not supposed to drink out here, but like, who’s around to say anything to her? Things are starting in about a half hour and she’s barely had a moment alone in the last five days. She’s used to living by herself; being in a house full of people again is something she can’t adjust to as quickly as is necessary. So yeah, she’s taking her quiet moments when she can get them. 

If she were a smoker, she’d be doing that right now. She’s simply swapped one vice for another. Standing outside by herself for some fresh air and as much peace as the world allows her would be a lot more comfortable if she wasn’t wearing this dress. It’s gorgeous, and she knows she looks great in it, but she’s terrified to get it dirty or wrinkled. She’ll forever be thankful to Sam that when he asked her to be in the wedding party, he told her everyone could wear whatever they wanted as long as it was in the right colour palette. So she bought this dark green dress that fits her better than anything she’s ever worn. Her nails were polished the palest pink she’s ever seen, this morning, and she had her hair and makeup done. 

She knows she looks as good as she ever has. And maybe that’s the only reason she doesn’t run inside when she sees his fancy car pull up. 

He steps out, hands his keys to the valet, and then Allie’s no longer watching _him_ , but rather the woman in a black dress get out of the passenger side and reach for Harry’s arm once he’s next to her. 

She’s pretty, Allie thinks. Plain, but pretty. And yes, it makes her an asshole to think that, but she doesn’t care. (She’s come to terms with being a bit of an asshole sometimes, okay?) 

And she knew he was coming, and she knew he was bringing someone. She helped Grizz and Sam plan this whole thing. She was very well aware of the entire guest list and seating arrangement and placement of every goddamn centrepiece, because she offered and they accepted her help. Not that she’s shitty enough to think they couldn’t have done it on their own. No, see, what happened was she offered just to be nice and they were thrilled, so she couldn’t really take it back, could she? And she has to admit, she does like the sense of satisfaction she’s had so far in the last few days seeing it all come together. 

Seeing Harry is...She just thinks she’ll never be able to look at him and not think of how good things were for a while, there, after they’d both moved to New York and finished school and…

They’ve always gotten along. He finished at Harvard and she finished at Cornell and found out via Facebook that he was moving to the city around the same time she was. He asked her if she wanted to grab lunch, and she ended up at his half-unpacked apartment in the middle of the day, his fingers tugging at the hem of her top and her wondering if she should’ve known this was going to happen. 

And when she says things were good for a while, she really means two years. Two years of them being together, and her going through getting her family to try and accept that he wasn’t the same person he was when he was 17. Two years of falling in love, and being in love, and thinking maybe this was it for her, for them, and then just…

God, she still feels like an absolute piece of crap every time she thinks about how they ended. Because it wasn’t a big break up, or even particularly a bad one. It was _sad_ , because they just got lazy. They got busy with their jobs, and trying to make money and survive in a city that kept wanting them to fail. Everything about how hard she had to work started irritating her, and he was never okay with the amount of time she focused on her work when, in his mind, she should've been focusing more on him. And maybe he wasn’t wrong. She still doesn’t know. All she knows is that when he said he thought they should break up, it didn’t sound like the worst idea in the world. And she loved him, even then, and he said something about the timing being bad but she thinks, honestly, they were just making excuses because they didn’t want to admit that they weren’t good for each other.

The last time she saw him was this past Christmas, which was about eight months after they’d broken up. There was a party and they were both in West Ham and avoided one another (and the way everyone was whispering about them) all night. He’d caught her outside, told her she looked hot, and asked how she was doing. She’d made up some bullshit answer she knew he’d be able to see right through, and left before anyone else could see that seeing him again was actually really fucking hard. 

“There’s my girl.” 

Allie startles, ice clinking around in her glass when she jumps, and forces herself to stop looking at Harry and this girl she knew he was bringing but still feels weird about. Her boyfriend, Aaron, is wearing a tux (why this wedding is black tie, she still doesn’t understand, but whatever), smiling at her, and walking across the grass towards her. He stops at the bottom of the stairs and just looks up at her. 

“Hi,” she says, and finds she sort of likes the way he’s literally standing beneath her. 

“You look…” He makes his way up the four steps and sets his hands on her waist. “Allie. Beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she says, instead of _”I know”_ , which was her first thought. 

“Good morning?”

Shit. She should’ve asked him, first. She knows he was nervous about being alone with her dad and uncle for the day. They were going to play golf, and Aaron grew up playing but wasn’t sure if he should play to win or go easy on them. That sounds like such a stupid problem to have, but she remembers what it was like meeting his parents for the first time, too. 

It’s dumb to think, but dating someone as rich as Harry and going to all his family stuff prepared her for dating Aaron. It’s really no different being with his rich ass family than it was being with Harry’s. It’s not intimidating, because she knew what to expect. 

“How was golf?” she asks, though she knows because her dad told her when he arrived at the venue that Aaron kicked their asses. Aaron must know this by the way she’s smirking, because he shrugs his shoulder. 

He leans down to kiss her, and she worries for a moment about her lipstick, but whatever. She can touch it up if she needs to. 

“I better get inside.” She nods, and he leans down to speak into her ear. “Can’t wait to see you come down the aisle.”

She feels like her blood runs cold. She should find that romantic, right? Not terrifying?

They’ve been together about six months, since a little after the holidays when they were set up on a blind date. Yeah, she’s surprised, too. But things have been going well and she doesn’t want that to stop. She just didn’t think they were ‘casually mentioning marriage’ serious.

When she looks over and watches him walk towards the front of the building, she sees, just past him, Harry standing there looking at her. She isn’t so much of a coward that she avoids his eyes. She does finish her drink, give him a tiny wave, and head back inside. 

Thinking she could get through this without things being really awkward, or her past slapping her in the face, was a complete joke. 

(She’s really and truly terrified that she’ll never be able to look at Harry without thinking they fucked everything up but didn’t have to.)

… … …

She sees him as she’s walking and the music’s playing. Him, Harry. Not Aaron. She can’t spot Aaron. Harry’s standing right next to the aisle and staring at her with this tiny smile on his face. God, she absolutely should not be thinking about this, but she knows this smile, okay? It’s the one he used to give her when they were in public and he was thinking something inappropriate. 

When she gets close enough, she sees the woman he’s with already dabbing at her eyes, and Allie feels like a bitch for hoping the girl’s makeup gets ruined. 

What the fuck is wrong with her?

… … … 

During the cocktail hour, she realizes it’ll be really, really awful if they don’t at least talk to one another and introduce their new people. Because everyone’s watching them and if she ignores him, she’ll never hear the end of it. And in a weird way, she thinks she owes it to Aaron, too. He knows about Harry - knows she dated a guy named Harry, anyway - and if he hears that the guy was there and Allie didn’t introduce him, it’ll give Aaron a reason to think she’s not over the guy. 

(Which is a thing she, herself, is questioning. But Aaron doesn’t need to know that, nor does anyone else. Including Harry.)

“Okay, so,” she starts, and Aaron smiles down at her like she’s precious, or something. “Harry is here.”

She realizes then and only then that she could have told him at literally any point leading up to the wedding, and it’s a bit of a fuckup that she didn’t.

“Harry your ex,” he says, and she likes that it isn’t a question. She nods. “Okay.” 

But it’s not okay, and she can tell he’s weirded out. Why wouldn’t he be?

“I’d like to introduce you,” she tells him, and then gives him a moment to process that. “It’d be rude not to.”

“Yeah, of course.” She honestly can’t read him. Whether he’s putting up a front or not. If he’s bothered and just trying to make it seem like this is all fine. 

But instead of making a thing out of that and asking him a bunch of questions, she just takes his hand and leads him over to where Harry is standing with this girl he brought with him. He sees her coming over and looks stone faced. Allie hates that. 

“Hey,” he says first, and she hates that, too. He seems unsure if they should hug, or something, but Allie figures _fuck it_ and opens her arms, letting go of Aaron in the process. “Good to see you.”

She knows what he means. He means she looks good. And the way his hand lingers on her waist and he flexes his fingers there lets her know she’s right. 

“You too.” She reaches back for her boyfriend, smiles up at him. He’s taller than Harry. She doesn’t think that’s relevant, but she notices it anyway. “This is Aaron.”

“Nice to meet you,” Aaron says, shaking Harry’s hand. Harry slides Allie a look that’s pure judgement. Asshole. 

“This is Beatrice,” Harry says, and puts his arm around her shoulders in a way that Allie always hated; it always meant her hair was trapped. “Beatrice, Allie.”

Yeah, they’re shit at making these introductions not awkward as hell. 

“So good to finally meet you!” Beatrice says, reaching out and touching Allie’s arm. Which like. Why? “I’ve heard so much about you, Allie.” What’s she supposed to say to that? Aaron puts his hand on her back. Turns out Allie doesn’t have to think of a response, because Beatrice talks a mile a minute. “You look so pretty. This wedding is gorgeous. And West Ham is the cutest town.”

“It’s something,” Allie laughs. Harry looks...embarrassed? She’s not sure what this is. “Your first time here?”

Yes, okay? She’s trying to figure out how long they’ve been together. Sue her. Harry literally rolls his eyes. So she’s not the only one being completely not subtle.

“It is. Everything’s so quaint. I just love it.”

Harry scoffs. “It’s a piece of shit, but maybe that’s lost on people who didn’t grow up here.” He’s looking right at Allie. She smiles back. Aaron’s looking at her, too. 

(She and Harry always used to say that if it weren’t for their parents, they’d literally never come back here.)

“Stop,” Beatrice laughs, sliding her hand up his chest. Harry looks down. Allie hates that she’s fucking jealous. 

“I think speeches are starting soon,” she says, which may or may not be true. She doesn’t know. She just needs to walk away from this right now. She reaches for Aaron’s hand. “See you later? It was really nice to meet you.”

She’ll give Aaron credit, he waits until they’re well away from Harry and there’s no chance at all of him overhearing before he says anything. 

What he says, though, is, “He’s not what I expected,” and Allie doesn’t know what to do with that. 

… … …

She’s just finished dancing with the whole bridal party when she decides she needs another glass of champagne. She hasn’t had a drink since the wine she had with dinner, and that feels like it was an hour and a half ago, or something. Probably not quite. Anyway, she’s just not drunk and wants to be at least buzzed at this thing. She’s, frankly, ready to be done with it. The vows have been said, and food eaten, and speeches given, and dances danced. What else is there? Well, cake, she supposes. God, she sort of can’t wait. She remembers going to the tasting with Grizz, Sam and Becca, and this cake is about to blow peoples’ minds. If she remembers the itinerary correctly, cake won’t happen for another hour at least. Ugh. 

Okay, she needs to get the hell out of this room for a minute. 

She grabs her champagne and then heads out onto the terrace. It’s still warm and humid outside, and the sun’s not yet gone down. It’s nice and quiet out here. There are a few people - Grizz’s relatives who live in Bosnia, if she’s remembering correctly, standing at the other end of the terrace. That’s fine. She just needs fresh air, not complete peace and quiet. 

She hears, “Hey,” from behind her, and closes her eyes. She takes a sip of her drink to try and stop this weird panic she has from settling in fully. Harry’s next to her, then, hands leaning on the glass barrier in front of him. “What are you doing out here?”

“Air,” she says, and he nods, which she finds annoying. Mostly because she’s looking at him in profile and he’s so handsome it’s insane. He’s also not saying anything else, which seems stupid, since he obviously followed her out here. For some reason it strikes her all at once that she has nothing to lose, and she’s a little angry, and at the very least, wishes he were here alone. It’s selfish of her, but there it is. “Hey, so, Beatrice is kind of the worst.”

He scoffs and looks at her like she’s crossed a line. She doesn’t care. 

“And Aaron’s the most boring fucking guy you could’ve possibly settled for.” Allie takes a drink. “And Allie and Aaron? Come on. That sounds dumb.”

She shakes her head. “You make it sound like I’m the one who got married. We’re just dating.”

“Yeah,” Harry laughs, and she feels like he thinks he knows something she doesn’t. “That guy’s in love with you.”

Okay, terrifying. 

“I…”

And then he has to go and say something so fucking on the nose that it throws her for a loop.

“Trust me. I know what being in love with you looks like.”

Allie closes her eyes, breathes out his name. She doesn’t say anything, because what’s she supposed to say? That he did a shit job of showing it? That’s not even true. Most of the time when she thinks about how they ended, she thinks it was her fault entirely. She has a morbid curiosity to find out whether or not he agrees. 

“Are you gonna go in and warn him to run for the hills?” she says, tries to make it sound like a joke, but knows she fails at it. 

“Why?” he asks, then turns to her. He puts his hand on her waist again. She holds her breath without meaning to. “You want him out of the way?”

Stupidly, she asks (whispers), “Out of the way of what?”

Harry’s looking at her mouth. 

The door nearby opens before she starts to lean in, and Harry steps away from her like he’s been caught doing something wrong. 

She walks away first. Again.

… … …

She’s not watching him dance with Beatrice, but she sees it in her periphery. She’s dancing with her dad, because that’s a thing people do at weddings, apparently. He’d come over and asked and Aaron had smiled at her and taken his arm from around the back of her chair, so she really couldn’t say no, or anything. 

“She’s pretty.”

Allie wants to scream. “Who?”

He laughs. “You’re too smart to play dumb.” Allie laughs, despite feeling generally miserable. “How are you holding up? This can’t be easy.”

“I’m with Aaron,” she reminds him, and he nods as they turn in a circle. The thing is, her dad can dance and he taught her when she was little. When they both needed a distraction from hospitals and home nurse visits and all that. She tightens her hold on his hand. 

“He’s nice,” her dad says, and she just looks up at him, because they both know that _he’s nice_ is just about the worst thing a dad can say about his daughter’s boyfriend. Decidedly not a great review. “What?”

“Say it.”

He laughs, then, again, and shrugs. “I don’t see it.” She goes to open her mouth to defend her relationship, but he beats her to speaking. “You and Harry, I could see.”

“ _Dad_.” He doesn’t say anything more. Maybe he senses that she can’t actually deal with this right now. This is a fucking wedding, and it’s supposed to be happy, and she really, genuinely, thought that seeing Harry again wouldn’t even be a thing. She was very, very wrong about that. “I feel like I just walked away.”

“Nothing wrong with walking away when things don’t feel right.” Okay, she loves him for that. For reminding her that there were _reasons_ for the breakup, and that just because she misses him, or is jealous that he’s with this other person, or looks fucking gorgeous, that doesn’t mean walking away was a bad choice. “Does it feel right with Aaron?”

She doesn’t answer, and she thinks he wasn’t expecting her to. She thinks not answering is an answer anyway.

Across the floor, Beatrice puts her head on Harry’s shoulder. Allie’s dad dips her and she sees that Harry’s noticed and is smiling in her direction. (He once told her he thought it was cute that she and her dad have this thing.)

After their dance, her dad presses another glass of champagne against her palm and tells her to stop staring and try to have fun. 

She can’t make any promises. 

… … …

She sets her box of leftover cake on her bedside table and finds the zipper between her shoulder blades to undo her dress. Aaron’s watching her and smiling. 

“I told you I was going to eat this cake in bed. I don’t know why you didn’t believe me.”

He chuckles a little and hangs his jacket back up on the hanger, then tugs down his suspenders. He’s pretty hot, to be honest. 

“Are you sure you want to eat cake and then go to sleep?”

Instead of being enraged by him saying such a fucked up thing…

Her dress pools at her feet. 

“Who said anything about sleep?”

He breathes out her name and shakes his head. He’s been weird about (aka: refuses) having sex in her parents’ house. 

Allie scrolls through Instagram on her phone and eats cake with her fingers and Aaron’s asleep before she’s even turned out the light. 

… … …

She doesn’t want to admit that Harry’s right.

She’s bored.

… … …

Now that the wedding’s over, she feels like she can actually enjoy the rest of her summer. It’s like there was pre-wedding time, then the wedding week, and now everything’s lighter and easier and there’s less shit she has to deal with. Again, happy to help! But happy to not have to help anymore. 

Aaron traveled straight from West Ham to Syracuse to spend a couple weeks with his family. He’d banked up all this time off from his job and decided to take it all in one shot. Allie doesn’t get it, and would never do that for fear she’d need time later and not have any left to take. But he’s obviously a grown man and can do whatever he wants. 

Stepping back into the silence of her studio apartment felt more amazing than she’d even expected. She sat for 45 straight minutes, slouched on the sofa with her shoes on and her phone in her hand doing absolutely nothing other than that. Just in silence. Alone. Relaxing. 

Going back to work was sort of welcome, too. Her colleagues wanted to know about the wedding, so she gave the high level recap to them and showed some photos over sandwiches from the food truck that comes by on Mondays, and they all eat outside in the sunshine. It’s sort of awesome. 

Three days after she’s back in the city, she’s just opened a bottle of wine and has some Trader Joe’s pasta cooking on the stove because it was all she could manage after working 13 hours today because she was on a deadline and trying to finish a report. She’s scrolling through Twitter, leaning against her counter and holding her glass of wine when her phone rings and Harry’s name is on her screen. 

She knows she takes too long thinking whether she should answer or not. What the hell’s he calling her for? It’s a Wednesday night at 9pm and they haven’t spoken on the phone in ages. They’ve had no reason to. The last things they said to one another weren’t particularly amazing. He didn’t say goodbye before leaving the wedding on the weekend. She feels like shit for being upset about that. It’s stupid. 

“Hey,” she answers, closes her eyes and wishes already that she’d let it ring.

“Hey.” There’s a pause that’s a little too long. She holds the phone away from her ear to make sure they’re still connected. Then he says, “Shit, I thought I’d get your voicemail.”

Allie laughs a little. “No, you’re not that lucky.” He chuckles uncomfortably on the other end of the line. “What’s up, Harry?”

“I’ve just been feeling badly about the wedding,” he says, and then waits, as if she’s supposed to understand why and what he’s been thinking. Which she doesn’t. “I was...When we were outside, I pushed too far, and I’m sorry.”

She has no idea what to say to that. They were together long enough that she knows exactly how hard it is for him to give an actual apology. So hard, honestly, that she’d never question whether or not he meant the words. He’s too prideful to say it if he doesn’t mean it.

“I started that conversation by saying something awful about your girlfriend,” she reminds him. “I’m not...I’m sorry, too.”

Unlike him, she’s totally capable of lying about it.

“You almost kissed me,” he reminds her, and she doesn’t need that, okay? She doesn’t. She’s been thinking about it enough.

“That’s not exactly true.”

“Allie.” Shit. Fine. He’s right. “It was just intense.”

“Yeah,” she whispers without meaning to. She checks her food on the stove. It’s ready, so she flicks the burner off and tacks the pan off the heat. “When’s it not, right?”

Harry kind of laughs, or scoffs, or makes some kind of sound, anyway. She wonders where he is. “Sure,” he says, and she’s embarrassed, or something, because she doesn’t know if he means that or not. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

Allie can’t help smiling. “Two apologies in one call? If you’re not careful you’ll make me think I’m special, or something.”

He’s being completely sincere when he says, “You are special, Allie,” and she doesn't know how to reply to that, either, so it's a good thing he says, “I’ll see you around,” as if that’s even close to the truth.

… … …

So, the reason she still works the Saturday brunch shift at the restaurant a few blocks from her apartment is because she always feels like she needs more money. That’s the simple explanation. She works in the Mayor’s office, okay? It’s not like she’s taking home six figures. One shift a week at this place she’s worked at since just after she moved to this city is totally manageable, and means she doesn’t have to stress so much about her bank account. Maybe she’ll quit eventually, but she revisits her budget every few months and she’s just not in a place yet to feel comfortable without this extra bit of income. Plus, the tax-free tips are literally the best. 

It’s a Saturday in August, which means the patio is busy and there’s a line of people waiting to be seated. They’re serving this really gorgeous watermelon salad as today’s special, and she’s carrying three plates to one of her tables when she hears someone say her name. She worries it’s one of her coworkers wanting to get past her, so she turns around, only to see fucking Beatrice standing there with expensive sunglasses pushing her hair off her face, and a leather bag hooked over her arm. Allie doesn’t want to be rude, but it’s pretty damn clear she’s working right now and can’t stop to chat. 

She delivers the dishes to her table, and yeah, shit, Beatrice and her three friends are seated in Allie’s section. Great. 

(Rudely, she thinks that at least they have money and might leave a decent tip.)

“Hey,” she says, faking a smile, and Beatrice stands and gives this weak little hug. Everything about this woman is annoying to Allie, and she tries not to think about how much of that is about her personality, and how much of it is that she’s dating Harry. Because who knows if they’re even still together? The wedding was two months ago. 

“How are you? I didn’t know you work here! We’re here all the time.” Allie wants to call bullshit, because she’d remember seeing them. But whatever. Not a hill she wants to die on. “I love your bracelet. The specials look so good!”

Allie _hates_ the way Beatrice talks like that. All different thoughts strung together without giving anyone else a chance to react before she’s on to the next thing. It’s rude. She clearly doesn’t give a shit about what other people have to say. She’s just talking for the sake of talking, at best, or only cares about her own thoughts, at worst. 

“Yeah, it’s really great. Can I get you some drinks?”

“Mimosas, please,” one of Beatrice’s friends says, smiling politely, and Allie smiles back. At least this person seems remotely sincere, even though Beatrice hasn’t introduced them or explained who the hell Allie is and why she got a hug. Then she realizes that, probably, Beatrice explained during the time between her calling Allie’s name, and her coming over to serve them. 

It’s bad enough that Allie’s been feeling inferior to Beatrice since she first saw her in June. Taking her order and serving her brunch is fucking demeaning. 

When she returns with their drinks, they’re ready to order, and Beatrice’s friends all say what they’d like. They’re really nice. Even if it’s fake, Allie appreciates it anyway. 

“Oh, my god, it’s so funny,” Beatrice says, reaching up and taking Allie by the wrist, which like… Allie’s not going to be a bitch about this, but who _does_ that? “Caroline was _just_ in the city and we took her out for dinner and we were having such a laugh about West Ham.”

And see, the way Beatrice is looking her _directly_ in the eye lets Allie know this is all a dig. No, not even a dig. She’s being hit with the goddamn shovel. Because Harry’s mom would never come to the city to visit them. Because she never liked Allie and didn’t want them together, and made that very clear to him. She was sweet to Allie’s face, but Harry told Allie about the conversations they had and the things Caroline said. Because they didn’t hide things from each other. And she knows he told his mom to deal with it because he was in love with Allie. But this…

Beatrice is saying it to make it perfectly clear that she’s better for him than Allie - as if Allie’s after him, or something. And she’s doing it to make it even more clear that she’s still with Harry. Which Allie didn’t ask and wouldn’t have, and…

“That’s so nice,” Allie says, and it’s a lie, and she gently tugs her hand away because she thinks it’s _fucked_ that Beatrice literally did that to physically put Allie in her place. “Harry’s house is great in the summer. Have you been back since the wedding?”

“Of course,” Beatrice says, and literally bats her lashes. 

What the fuck does he see in her?

“I’m sorry,” one of Beatrice’s friends says, interrupting. She gives Allie a look that seems sympathetic. Like she’s saving her. Allie thinks these people are too good for that bitch. “Could I actually get a coffee as well?”

Allie smiles, nods, and says she’ll go grab it. 

It’s too busy to stand here held hostage by this woman she literally hates. 

20 minutes later, when she’s on her break and eating a biscuit with maple butter spread on top, she’s so fucking angry (sad) that she texts Harry and tells him to stop talking to his girlfriend about her. He texts back, _“Wtf?”_ and she doesn’t respond, because she’s not stupid enough to think that Beatrice won’t tell him everything, anyway. At least her side of the story. And frankly, Allie knows that won’t be the truth, but she doesn’t care. She just wants to never have this situation happen again.

… … ...

Aaron gets tickets to a Yankees game on Labour Day weekend. Of all the sports he cares about, baseball’s the one she can tolerate most. She’s got this beat up Yankees hat she wears when she runs, which is rare, but whatever. He’s in a Jeter jersey and she sort of hates it when guys wear jerseys as like, an outfit, but she’ll excuse it because they’re on their way to a game, not just wandering around the neighbourhood. It’s hot as hell and she braided her hair over her shoulder to keep it off the back of her neck. Aaron had put his hands on her hips in her bedroom as she was finishing up and looking at herself in the mirror and told her she looked hot. 

Things have been pretty good between them. She had a pretty frank discussion with him about how she needed more from their relationship. He said he understood and wanted to be sure they were good together, and she’ll give him every bit of credit for how he’s changed - how they’ve both changed - the way they approach their relationship. Part of her feared she was only bringing it up to give herself an out. (That same part of her blamed Harry for putting the idea in her head in the first place.) She worried that she’d just started the conversation so that if things didn’t change, she could turn around and say he didn’t hear her. But then again, even if that were true, there wouldn’t be the worst thing. She’s allowed to want more, to say so, and to end it with someone if they don’t follow through. 

They’re on their way to the subway station (she’s not looking forward to the trek to the Bronx, but she’ll suck it up) and she sees Harry across the street. Shit. He looks good in his jeans and black tee shirt, holding a cup of coffee from a place she remembers going to with him. He’s wearing sunglasses she forces herself to look away before Aaron catches her staring, or something. 

Aaron’s talking about the article he was reading this morning while she was in the shower, so he doesn’t hear someone calling her name. She knows who it is. 

She pretends she doesn’t hear, either. 

They’re walking down the steps to the subway and her arm is through Aaron’s and she knows how much Harry will hate that. How much he’ll hate that she didn’t turn around. 

… … …

On her way home from work, she sees Beatrice getting out of a town car and walking up the steps of a brownstone nicer than Allie can currently imagine ever living in. She pulls keys from her hand as she talks on the phone, and Allie puts her head down when she worries Beatrice is going to see her. 

She doesn’t want to change her route home on account of this. It’s sort of ridiculous. Beatrice obviously lives in the same neighbourhood and Allie’s only seen her once like this, and once at the restaurant. She refuses to change her life and the way she does things because her ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend is the literal worst, and the thought of having to talk to her makes Allie anxious as hell.

She sees her again, weeks later. This time, Beatrice is stuck without an umbrella and it’s pouring and Allie feels like kind of a shit person for being smug that she’s wearing her Hunter boots, raincoat and listening to Fleetwood Mac beneath the cover of her black umbrella. 

Whatever. Who says she has to be nice all the time?

… … ...

She spends a weekend in West Ham with her family because it’s a thing she does once in a while. Despite it being so close, her parents don’t feel like they see her often enough. As if the train only runs one way and they can’t come see her. But yeah, sure, her place can’t host people overnight, and it’s easier (for them…) if she visits them. Her mom also has this thing where she thinks Allie’s missing something by not coming ‘home’ regularly. Like Allie didn’t get out as fast as she could in the first place. 

But she’s not a miserable brat, and she doesn’t hate the idea of being at her parents’ place in the summer. Her mom’s taken up gardening as she nears retirement, and Allie sort of loves their backyard with its array of flowers and the gorgeous deck they put in a couple years ago. 

Aaron insists they drive, rents a car and picks her up outside her building. She rolls her eyes when she sees that it’s a convertible, which he’d joked about and told her he wasn’t serious about. She called him on that and absolutely knew he’d end up with one. She doesn’t hate the thought of driving through the city with the top down. 

She goes with her mom to the bakery to pick up the special order - lemon cheesecake that’s Allie’s favourite - and doesn’t expect to see Harry’s little sister working behind the register. Not only because no one in that family actually has to work, but also because she thought the girl would be off to school by now. 

She comes out from behind the counter and gives Allie the tightest hug - the kind of hug you know someone really means. It makes Allie smile. And they end up chatting a bit, about school and schedules and work. Sarah’s, “I miss you,” is totally coded, and Allie can tell by the look in her eye that there’s something more she wants to convey without saying it. In particular, not with Allie’s mom standing right here. 

“Harry’s…” Sarah stops, catches herself. Allie’s mom is being rung up by one of the other employees, so they’re sort of alone here. Allie doesn’t mean to grit her teeth. She thought, stupidly, they’d get away with not talking about him. “I was worried. I thought it was getting bad again.”

It’s almost whispered, and Allie’s first filled with fear that that’s true. And actually, that feeling doesn’t go away, it’s just pushed over so it sits next to her other thought, which is that it’s not her thing to be scared of. Not really. Not more than you’d be concerned for anyone you knew who was struggling.

“When?” Allie asks, though she doesn’t know why or what she expects. 

“He was here for a weekend in July. I could tell. He didn’t say anything.” Allie smiles sadly and tries to think of a way to say she hopes he’s feeling better now, without it sounding like a brush off. “I think, honestly, that coming here was easier when he was with you.”

It’s said like Sarah doesn’t know if she should share it, or if it means anything, or if it's crossing a line. Allie just reaches out for a hug as she sees her mom lifting the box off the counter so they can leave. 

“Easier for me, too,” she confesses, and Sarah sort of laughs. “Text me?”

Sarah nods, then they’re out the door, and Allie was being sincere. She and Sarah always got along and she’s thought many times over the last year that she misses their relationship, independent of missing him, even when missing him was a thing she was doing all the time and not just sporadically. 

… … …

She’s alone when she sees them together, walking straight toward her on the sidewalk as she’s heading home from the restaurant. She’s in a Cornell crewneck and black pants, Blundstones because they don’t hurt her feet when she’s working, and trying to get through this podcast Aaron wanted her to hear and she promised she’d listen to so they could talk about it. It’s boring. Well, boring to her. It’s about economics and she knows it’s important and she should be doing a better job of trying to understand it. It’s a little hard to do when Harry’s got Beatrice’s arm looped through his and a little crooked smile on his face when he notices Allie. 

He always teased her for wearing apparel from her alma mater. She always teased him for how much he liked seeing her in apparel from _his_.

Beatrice is less chatty than usual, which Allie would be grateful for, except what she finds is this bitchy cold shoulder thing is sort of worse. It’s like...Okay, it’s maybe not fair, but it’s got the same air about it that Harry’s mom always had when she was tired of someone’s company or wanted to prove she was better than them. And Allie wants to laugh at him for dating someone whose personality is so obviously close to his mother's. 

But there she goes again, thinking she knows anything, really, about Beatrice or their relationship. It’s obviously good enough; they’ve been together months and months. 

She tries not to think too hard about how Beatrice will feel about the way Harry pulls away from her, leans towards Allie, presses a kiss to the apple of her cheek and says, “Hey,” like he’s happy to see her. 

Allie gives a little wave and looks at Beatrice to get a read on whether or not they’ll hug, or something. Beatrice just smiles tightly and says hi. 

“Bea lives around here,” he explains, and Allie acts like this is new information. “How are you?”

Allie realizes too late that she could’ve pretended to be on the phone and avoided this whole thing by saying she couldn’t stop to chat. 

“I’m great,” she says, and it’s...It’s not a lie, really. She’s fine. She just finished a brutal shift at the restaurant, though, and she’s feeling discouraged about her career and the fact that she still has to wait tables in order to feel comfortable. She thought she’d be promoted by now and it hasn’t happened. 

“You look great,” he tells her, and like, what the fuck? His girlfriend is literally right there. 

“You too,” she says, because fuck it. “I’m sorry. I’ve actually gotta run. I’m meeting Aaron.”

Harry looks surprised, which annoys her. “You’re still together?”

Allie has a flashback to the wedding, and Harry, and almost kissing him, and his assessment of her relationship. She knows herself well enough to know that if the woman wasn’t standing right here, Allie would be throwing his relationship with Beatrice back at him in rebuttal.

“We are,” is what she says. Harry’s just staring at her like there’s a lot more he wants to say. 

“Honey?” Beatrice says and Allie can’t help laughing, because Harry hates stuff like that and it’s hilarious to her that he wants to shit talk her relationship when it’s clear he hasn’t even been honest with Beatrice about what he does and doesn’t like. “Shall we?”

“See you around, I’m sure,” Allie says, and walks around him. He mumbles something, too, and she wishes she weren’t so bothered every time they have an interaction. 

By the time she gets home, what she’s thinking - what she’s realized - is that she and Harry have never had certain conversations they should have, and that’s why every time they see one another it feels like they’re holding back. They end up dancing around topics because it’s never the time or place to speak up, and that just makes it feel awkward and out of context. 

When Aaron arrives, she’s showered and changed into more comfortable clothes, and he’s brought her tea and a scone. It’s sweet. She appreciates it.

She’s trying, honestly she is, to have a conversation with Aaron about this stupid podcast. And it is stupid. What she understands of it, she disagrees with. And while she’s usually up for an old fashioned debate, she finds it annoying that he’s trying to poke holes in her argument just for the sake of it. She _knows_ at least part of her is being a brat just because she wants to be right. Another part is just in a bad mood. Either way, the conversation doesn’t feel fun for her, and she’s annoyed that he’s not picking up on that. 

Later, when he’s making dinner, which was always the plan, she can’t stop thinking about Harry and his stupid question looking for comfirmation that she’s still with Aaron. Like, what’s it to him? Why so surprised? Just because he’s jealous and doesn’t approve doesn’t actually mean anything at all. Not to her. 

They broke up, remember? She would’ve been better off if he’d never started dating this person who lives so close by. Seeing him - seeing _her_ \- wouldn’t be so fucking hard becuase it wouldn't even be a thing. Allie would’ve been able to continue going on with her life like she was over him. 

The fact that Harry seems to always be so close to the top of her mind is messing her up, because all the reasons they broke up are still there, right? They have to be. Just because she thinks, seriously, that her time with him was some of the best in her entire life doesn’t mean she needs to go back to that, right? And it’s easy, in hindsight, to feel that. She absolutely remembers during their relationship, too, and how it felt pretty awful towards the end. 

She hasn’t wanted to talk to him in ages the way she wants to talk to him now. 

She opens up a new message and types his name in, gets all their history right there in front of her. Their last messages were about Beatrice. Before that, there were sort of shitty words from both of them about some thing or another. Before that, they were arranging when to pick up their things from one anothers’ houses. 

(She remembers very vividly going to his place to get her box and drop off the bag of his items. They’d kissed and she’d cried and they’d almost slept together in some weird, last ditch effort to maybe make each other see they could make it work. Allie’s sitting here on her couch with her boyfriend within her line of sight, wondering what might’ve happened if they hadn’t stopped themselves that day.)

She texts Harry, _’Why are you surprised we’re still together?’_

He replies almost instantly. _’He’s not good enough for you.’_

It makes her think that he’s been thinking it all along and just waiting until she asked so he could really put it all out there for her. It makes her feel like he still knows her. 

He’s typing something, then the bubble goes away and comes back seconds later. Allie’s chewing her thumbnail and watching the screen. 

_’I think I miss you.’_

Allie doesn’t know if that means anything, but try telling that to her stupid heart, because it feels a little bigger in her chest. 

Another message comes through before she can respond. 

_’I keep thinking about you in my Harvard shirt.’_

Allie’s cheeks flare, and she doesn’t know what the fuck to do with any of this information. Aaron turns around and asks her if she wants red onion in her salad, and she answers yes too quickly, because he startled her. She feels really wrong for this. 

_’I had that thought, too.’_

She shouldn’t have said that. She is so stupid. This is so stupid. 

_’Missing me? Or wearing my clothes?_

She thinks about it...No. She pretends to think about it longer than is necessary. 

She replies, _’Yes’_.

Harry types just her name and she can practically _hear_ the way he’s saying it. She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t know how. Aaron tells her it’s 5 more minutes til everything’s ready, so she tosses her phone onto the sofa and gets up, goes to get plates and set the table. When he kisses her later, she feels conflicted and awful and doesn’t want to do this. 

Any of it. 

She means to tell him she’s breaking up with him. 

She, instead, tells him she’s tired and feels fuzzy from the wine and kind of wants to just cuddle. She might have tears in her eyes. 

She doesn’t know what to do.

… … …

She meets Harry for a coffee outside her office. He’d asked if she’d be into it and she is. She’s had three days to think of their messages back and forth, and this feels every bit a bad idea as it did on Saturday. But here she is, taking a cappuccino from his hand as he stands here in one of the suits he wears to work. She knows he knows how good he looks. 

She’s not sure what general talking points are for meeting up with an ex when both of you have new partners and you flirted briefly via text. What happens is he apologizes on Beatrice’s behalf, and Allie scoffs like that’s ridiculous, because as far as she’s concerned, it _is_.

“Don’t apologize for her. It wasn’t an accident. She knew what she was doing.” Harry sighs like she’s right, which is good because she is. She shouldn’t, but she takes it a step further. “She reminds me of your mom.”

“Allie,” he groans like she’s being unreasonable. She’s not.

“I can almost picture the two of them talking about me when you’re not in the room.”

God, maybe they’ll never work. Because that, above anything else, is true. His mother doesn’t approve, won’t approve, and will always think Allie’s middle class upbringing means she’s not good enough for him. No amount of success with her career or any self-improvement or education she pursues will change the woman’s mind. 

“I never cared what my mom thought of you,” he reminds her, and she stops her line of thinking. She knows he means that. She knows it’s true. “I don’t care what Beatrice thinks of you, either.” Right, so he’s admitting it, that Beatrice has expressed some thoughts in line with what Allie’s been assuming. “And for the record, she didn’t exactly appreciate it when I told her to stop talking about you.”

“You don’t have to protect me,” she says, and he shakes his head, looking down. It’s as if he’s telling her she doesn’t get it, or something. “This is all just...it’s a lot to ask, to see you around all the time and act like…”

“Like what?” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Like we’re friends? Or like we actually ever felt over?”

And that’s it, right? Those are really the two options. They’re not friends. She doesn’t think they ever actually could be. It’s too heavy, all this stuff between them that sometimes they don’t even acknowledge or address. Everything was easier when they just didn’t see each other. It was easier to convince herself that whatever they had didn’t exist anymore. The more she sees him, the more she realizes that’s really, really not true. And maybe that doesn’t mean they should be together - she can’t possibly say she believes that’s true - but it does mean there’s something unresolved that they definitely need to work through.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to things like that,” she tells him, though what she should say is that she agrees both that they’re not friends, and that they’ve never felt over. “Or you telling me you want to see me in your shirt.”

He _smirks_ , and says, “I didn’t say I wanted to see you in it.” Allie scoffs, tilts her head at him. “I said I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

“And those are different,” she says like a statement she doesn’t believe. 

And this is like quicksand, because he comes back at her with, “You were thinking it, too. So did you want it?”

It is literally the middle of the day and they’re right outside her workplace and her identification card is clipped to the waist of her pants like always. It is completely inappropriate in about a hundred different ways for them to be having this conversation. Period. Not even just here and now. Add in their partners, and their breakup, and the fact that things have always felt a little messy between them, even when they were _good_ , and it’s a downright bad idea for them to be talking. 

That’s to say nothing of flirting. 

“I think we can agree we were always good at this part,” she says quietly, and Harry smiles, nods his head. Like, seducing each other is simple, okay? She can’t really think of a time she didn’t want to do that, or didn’t know she’d be successful if she tried. God, even at the wedding she’d thought if she just _asked_ him to come with her somewhere she could’ve lured him away from Beatrice. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, and she says yes, though she’s checking the time. She’s got to get back inside and be composed enough to lead a meeting in 30 minutes. “I’m jealous as hell thinking about you with that guy.” Allie blows out her breath. That’s not what she was expecting. “And at first it was just like, territorial masculinity bullshit.”

She smiles a little, loving that he’ll actually admit stuff like that. It’s fucked up. It’s attractive. 

“And now?”

She shouldn’t ask. She thinks he’d tell her even if she didn’t, though. 

“Now I just fucking _miss_ you, Allie.” 

He’s looking right at her and it makes her feel a little crazy. It feels _good_. It’s not even new. He said the same thing the other day. But he means it now. She can tell. And something about this guy being honest about his feelings has always made her want him more. 

He continues before she can say anything. “And I want you to not be with him. Or anyone. Shit.”

Allie doesn’t mean to laugh, but it’s a little funny, the way he corrects himself. 

It’s also a little hypocritical. 

“And you think it’s easy to see you with Beatrice?”

He tries to smile at her. “You just hate her.”

“That’s separate.” She’s smiling because it’s mostly a joke. Maybe not. She doesn’t know. It’s confusing. Beatrice is exactly the kind of girl she wouldn’t like if they met under any other circumstances. She’s trying to separate that from this, with Harry. “Why do you like her?” she asks, and yeah, she’s fucking terrified of what he’s going to say. 

He shrugs his shoulder, says simply, “It’s easy.”

Allie feels her throat tighten and she takes a deep breath, blows it out. 

“That’s how Aaron feels, too.” Harry nods, laughs quietly. “Guess we can’t be blamed for that after the way we...were.” 

“Yeah.” Allie takes a long drink of her cappuccino. She’s already worried about her nerves being shot for the rest of the day, but it tastes good so whatever. “I’ve been thinking.”

He doesn’t finish. Allie laughs, “What?”

He turns to her, and god, he’s handsome. She’s never not thought so. But this particular look, the one he has when he’s being genuine, serious, and talking about his feelings? This look has always made her want him more than she can even admit. 

“I think if we’d been better at working on shit and actually talking, we might still be together.”

It’s the exact thought she’s had since exactly as long as they’ve been broken up. To varying degrees, but still. It almost brings tears to her eyes, to know that he’s felt the same, even if that’s just a recent thing. 

She checks the time again, and hates that she has to say, “I have to go.”

Harry stands when she does, looks like he doesn’t want to cut this conversation short, either. “Allie, I…” She shakes her head and he stops talking. She’s already close enough to crying that she can’t hear whatever he was about to say. “Text me.”

It’s about all she can commit to, so she nods her head, turns and walks back towards the door, and tries to get through her meeting and the rest of the day without feeling like she’s totally off kilter.

… … …

She doesn’t text him. 

Rather, she has no intentions of doing it. 

But then she has no intentions of picking a fight with Aaron, either, and yet here she is, in his apartment in Manhattan with the coffee table between them and him gritting his teeth like he’s really and truly irritated with her. It’s not like it’s never happened before, but she doesn’t like this. She notices the way his hand balls into a fist by his thigh. She fucking hates that, too. 

But she doesn’t for a second understand why he thinks it’s even remotely appropriate for him to comment on the amount of money she has in savings, or the rate at which she’s paying off her student loans. Like this is any of his business. Like it affects him. 

So maybe it’s not even picking a fight, but rather a legitimate reason to argue with him. Because she’s fucking pissed that he thinks he has a right to have an opinion about her finances.

She’s too mad to even respond to his last point. (Which was that it seems like she’s being deliberately irresponsible, and maybe if she changed things she wouldn’t have to ‘be a waitress’. Honestly, fuck him.) She reaches for her jacket and her phone, stuffs her feet into her shoes. 

“Allie.”

“Don’t,” she says lowly, and he’s not even getting up off his couch. Asshole.

She leaves and lets the door close behind her, and feels like she can actually breathe as soon as she’s in the hallway. She presses the elevator button and knows just seconds later that he’s not going to come after her, and she’s fine with that. 

She doesn’t care? 

She’s standing on the street in the dark outside his building and find’s Harry’s name, calls him. This is a truly terrible idea, but then he answers sounding concerned and asks if she’s okay, and she can’t stand the fact that he feels like the only reason she could call him is if there’s something wrong.

“Wanna grab a drink?” she blurts, and he asks where she wants to meet. 

20 minutes later, he walks into the bar she suggested, smiles when he sees her. When he gets to the table he kisses her cheek like he’s done before, then looks her over and knows something’s up. But he doesn’t say anything about it, and orders a beer when the server comes by. Allie cradles her glass of whiskey between two hands and watches the ice melt. 

“What’s going on?” he finally asks, and she wishes so badly that this was just...a date. That they’d never broken up and they were just sitting at his place and decided to go out for a drink. That they’d flirt across the table and he’d play with the ring on her middle finger and look at her in that way he always used to that meant he was thinking something dirty. God, she misses that.

“I wanted to see you,” she says instead of confessing all that. And it’s true, anyway. It was almost instant. In fact, if she’s being really honest with herself, she’s been thinking it since they met for coffee. Since the second she turned to walk away. 

He pauses for a second, thanks the server when she drops his beer off at the table. Allie watches him take a sip. How he’s coming off so calm is sort of shocking, but then again, he’s not the one going through this range of emotions.

He looks right at her, blinks, and says, “I broke up with Bea.”

Allie cannot stand that stupid nickname. 

Instead of saying that, she says something else that’s bold and stupid and none of her business. 

“Why?”

He looks at her like that’s an annoying question. He says, “Allie,” as if that’s both a plea and an answer to her question. 

She sips her drink instead of asking him to take her home. 

She has to say something, though. “She wasn’t right for you.”

(Which is probably not better than the other thing.)

He scoffs a little, tilts his head just slightly. “I know,” he says, eyes locked. 

Fuck.

Allie takes a deep breath, finishes her drink and flags down the server to ask for another. She doesn’t want to get drunk, she just isn’t ready to go home yet. 

“See any good movies lately?” she asks, and Harry smiles, sits back in his chair and raises his beer to his mouth. 

Thankfully, he obliges her and they talk about this show they’ve both been watching on Netflix. She’s finished but he’s got a few episodes to go and even though he doesn’t care about spoilers - which she doesn’t understand and never has - she won’t tell him how it ends. He rolls his eyes like he’s bothered, as though he couldn’t just look up the ending. Then he recommends a documentary on some athlete he’s got to know she wouldn’t care about but is exactly the kind of thing she would’ve agreed to watch with him and then fallen asleep during. It was one of their running jokes. That he’d put on something and she’d curl up next to him and be asleep halfway through. Her heart swells thinking about it. She misses it. She thinks this entire period of not being with him is stupid. She thinks they should just be together and make it work. She thinks they can.

By the time he’s finished his beer and all that’s left in her second glass is ice, she checks the time and thinks about how late it’ll be by the time she gets back to Brooklyn. She should really get going. 

He drops some cash on the table to cover their bill, stands and stuffs a hand in his pocket. 

“Want company?” he asks, and god, she _does_ , but she knows what he’s really asking, and Aaron’s name hasn’t even come up tonight. That means Harry either doesn’t care at all whether she’s still attached or not, or he’s just assuming she’s not. But he’s got to know that if she were single, if she’d ended things, she would’ve said so after he told her his news. So he just wants her, and that makes her feel better than it should considering she’s still technically got a boyfriend.

“I…” When she stands, he reaches out and sets his hand on her hip, looks down at where he’s touching her. She pulls her jacket on and his hand is there, under her clothes now. It feels more intimate this way. She likes it too much. “No.”

He’s still looking down, but she watches him smile. “Liar.”

Allie laughs softly, wanting him. 

She places her hand on his wrist. Not to pull it away, but rather to feel him. God, it’d be so easy to leave with him, for them to go to the same place. To do what they both want. But it wouldn’t be fair to them. If they want any hope to fix anything, she can’t start it while she’s with someone else. Harry deserves better than that. 

He holds her hand as he walks her to the subway stop, tells her to text him when she gets in and kisses the corner of her mouth. She’s still holding his jacket when he pulls away. Someone tells them to get the fuck out of the way and Harry laughs, pats her hip, and then she’s turning and heading down the stairs and she really wishes she’d just broken up with Aaron before leaving his house. Not that she would’ve gone home with Harry tonight when she was fresh off a breakup, but still. This whole thing could’ve felt different. But that’s terrifying, too, right? That this could’ve felt better than it even does now?

She keeps her word, texts him as she locks her apartment door behind her. He sends her back a thumbs up and _’Goodnight’_ and Allie crawls into bed after washing her face and brushing her teeth. 

Aaron hasn’t texted or called. 

So that’s pretty telling.

… … …

They’ve been in touch throughout the next couple weeks, which is great, but a little distracting, if she’s being honest. She’s on a huge project at work, and she’s dealing with Aaron being an absolute _child_ and acting surprised that they’re breaking up. Sometimes Harry’s texts are welcome and sometimes she wishes they’d just wait until she’s in a better headspace. Which is probably selfish, but ultimately she thinks is totally understandable. 

She’s packing the things Aaron left at her place into a box, because he’d said she should just mail them because he didn’t want to cross the bridge to get them. True colours shining here, right? If it’s such a fucking inconvenience to come get his own shit, he must’ve dreaded it every time he had to come see _her_.

She tells him he can leave hers with security at her office and she’ll grab them. He’ll have to go out of his way to dop it off, but she doesn’t care. Because fuck him, too. 

Harry asked her what she was up to later, and it sounded enough like an invitation that it made her smile. She’d typed out that she had no plans, but had considered polishing her nails and opening a bottle of wine. 

As she’s walking back from dropping Aaron’s box off to be mailed, she sees Harry, sitting on her stoop in his hat and winter jacket, hands stuffed in his pockets. He’s wearing the plaid scarf she got him two Christmases ago as a joke because he said he was always cold and yet refused to wear one. 

He hasn’t seen her yet. When he turns and sees her walking towards him, he smiles and Allie can’t help doing the same. 

“You didn’t tell me you weren’t home. Shit. I’m freezing out here.”

“You didn’t tell me you were coming over,” she counters, because like, this isn’t her fault! He stands on the step and she’s in front of him on the sidewalk, so she’s much shorter. He reaches for her hat and pulls it down over her eyes. She squeals his name as he laughs. “Asshole!” 

“Can we go in, or what?” he asks, and moves his arm around her waist once she’s coming up the steps. 

She told him last week that she’d ended things with Aaron. He’d replied _’Good to know’_ and that was sort of that. 

She’s sure they’ll have a conversation. Likely a lot of them. 

Right now, Harry’s hanging his coat up in her apartment and asking what she wants to order for dinner, and it all feels so fucking normal that it’s tripping her out a bit. 

She walks over and stands in front of him, puts her arms around his waist. He smiles down at her and pushes her hair off her forehead. 

“What are you doing here?” she asks, but it’s not an accusation or at all an indication that she wants him to leave. 

Harry says quietly, “Being with you,” and god, if that’s not the best answer she could’ve hoped for. 

He kisses her quickly, says something about the Thai place nearby that they always loved. She watches him sit down on the sofa. She thinks there’s a lot they’re ignoring. She thinks, too, that they deserve a little of this, too. 

(That kiss was the first one they’ve shared in a long time, and it’s a little stunning that it was so casual. She sort of loves it, too.)

She’s staring. 

“What?” he asks her, and then she sits down next to him and he drapes his arm around her. 

“Are we really just gonna pick up where we left off?”

“No,” he says, thumb brushing the back of her neck. “Where we left off sucked. This is better than that, obviously.”

“Obviously,” she teases, and maybe he’s sort of right, too. “We’ll talk, though? Later?”

“Yeah.” Harry smiles at her and leans in for a kiss. She sets her hand on his face. “Later.”

Her stomach growls and he laughs, asks if her order is still the same, and then around midnight, when they’re lying atop the covers of her bed in the dark and listening to music, she admits, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the wedding.”

Harry smiles, almost sadly, and says, “Only since then?” and Allie thinks truly, for the first time, that maybe they’re actually going to be okay.


End file.
